


Helping Hands

by Severina



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Gen, Oz Magi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Busmalis gets a little help from his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lisacali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisacali/gifts).



> Written for LJ's Oz Magi gift exchange.  
> Prompt: Busmalis &amp; Rebadow... "I can't believe you got away with that."   
> Thanks so much to ozsaur for being a fabulous beta and making wonderful suggestions that improved the story immensely.

Normally, if he wasn't working on a tunnel, or imagining a tunnel, or contemplating the sublime beauty of past tunnels, Busmalis was able to drift off to sleep almost immediately. He dreamt of dark soil sifting through his fingers, of warm air laced with moisture, of tangled roots. He always slept long and well, awoke refreshed and revitalized.

Lately, however, he lay awake long after lights out. He fantasized about burying his fingers in soft blonde hair instead of dank earth. He closed his eyes and pictured a frank, appraising gaze instead of the long cumbersome span of an underground warren. He dreamed of setting down roots of a different kind.

Busmalis shifted restlessly on the bunk. "Bob? You awake?"

Silence.

Busmalis cleared his throat, raised his voice just a little louder. "Bob?"

A huff of breath. "What?"

"I think I'm going to write a letter to Norma."

"You see Norma every Saturday."

Busmalis gazed up at the ceiling, brow furrowed in thought. "Yeah?"

"By the time she gets your letter, it'll be visitation day," Rebadow said patiently. "You can just _tell_ her whatever's in the letter."

"Yeah," Busmalis conceded. "But I want to send her something… romantic."

Rebadow snorted.

"What?" Busmalis frowned. "I can do romantic."

"I'm sure you can."

"I'm a regular Don Juan."

"Undoubtedly."

Busmalis laced his fingers over his ample stomach.

The bedsprings in the bunk below him squeaked once before all was again quiet.

"Bob? Will you help me?"

Rebadow sighed. "Go to sleep, Agamemnon."

* ~ * ~ *

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and cold toast. Busmalis slurped down his orange drink with gusto, and ate heartily in preparation for his first excursion into creative composition.

"Why don't you just go to the library?" Rebadow asked as they strolled back from the cafeteria.

"Too many distractions," Busmalis said. "Do you know the last time I was there one of the Aryans beat up some poor kid from Unit B?"

"You've never been to the library, Agamemnon."

"Oh," Busmalis said. "Yeah, you're right. But I heard all about it. It was awful!"

Rebadow rolled his eyes as he pulled open the pod door.

"The pod is perfect," Busmalis said, following him in and immediately scooping up his notepad from the bed and setting it down on the small desk in the corner. "Nice and quiet. Peaceful. What do they call it? Conducive! Conducive to writing, that's what it is." Busmalis placed a pen carefully next to the notepad.

"Conducive," Rebadow repeated.

"You sure you don't mind me kicking you out, Bob?" Busmalis asked for the third time.

"It's fine," Rebadow sighed. He gathered up his jacket, glanced around the pod to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything he'd want in the next hour or two. "I'll watch some television. Maybe play a game of checkers."

"Checkers! That's a great idea, Bob! You know who loves to play checkers?"

"You," Rebadow said dryly.

Busmalis nodded enthusiastically. "And Cyril O'Reily. You could get a good game going with Cyril, Bob."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Busmalis watched Rebadow make his way to one of the card tables before pulling out his chair and taking a seat. He straightened the notepad to a precise right angle with the edges of the desk. Picked up the pen, uncapped it, and licked the nib thoughtfully.

_Dear Norma_, he began.

He frowned down at the paper. Too bland. Boring. He decided to make this version his rough draft, and crossed out what he'd written.

_Dearest Norma_, he started again.

Busmalis scratched his chin. Dearest Norma -- it sounded like a bad movie from the '40's, something starring Joan Crawford in garish red lipstick. It didn't fit his sweet Norma, not at all. He scribbled it out, black lines crawling across the top of the page.

_My darling Norma_, he tried.

He read the salutation again. Repeated it softly to himself. Nodded in satisfaction.

He was off.

 

An hour later, he had written and scratched out four opening sentences and the beginning of a poem comparing Norma's eyes to the stagnant water at the bottom of a tunnel excavation. He slumped back in the chair with a grunt.

It was the room. He was sure of it. The walls were too grey. There was nothing to look at. And the pod was too quiet, the only sound the irritating scritch of his pen on the paper. He couldn't concentrate in all that silence.

With a sigh, Busmalis gathered up his supplies and headed out to the quad.

* ~ * ~ *

"Hey, Bob," Busmalis murmured under his breath, "how do you spell lascivious?"

"H-O-R-N-Y," Keller said loudly, tipping his chair back and glancing over from the adjourning table.

"I can't use that!" Busmalis spluttered.

Beecher peered over his shoulder, slapped his cards down and slid his chair a little closer to their table. "What are you doing there, Busmalis?" he asked.

"Nothing." Busmalis covered the sheet of paper with his arm. "Nothing at all."

"He's writing a love letter to Norma," Rebadow said matter-of-factly.

Busmalis's mouth dropped open. "Bob."

"Oh yeah?" O'Reily said. He reached out quickly, snagged the notepad from under Busmalis's arm. "Let's see what you've got here."

"It's just a rough draft--" Busmalis started nervously.

"I can see that," O'Reily said with a smirk as he scanned the page. He arched a brow and waved the pages. "You're not really planning on sending this, are you?"

"Well… I…"

"She'll change her mind about marrying you if she knows you're this much of a lameass," O'Reily said. "Though how she doesn't know that already is a mystery to us all."

"Norma loves me!" Busmalis bristled.

Keller leaned across the table. "Tell her that you can't wait to eat her out," he advised. "Chicks love that."

Beecher grimaced.

"What?" Keller huffed out.

"Chicks -- who prefer to be called women, by the way -- do not love that."

Keller's lips spread in a decidedly wolf-like grin. "My chicks did."

Beecher turned up his nose, ignoring Keller and focusing all his attention on Busmalis. "You have to be sensitive to her needs."

Hill paused as he passed by their table. "Whose needs?"

"No one's," Busmalis said quickly. He made a frantic stab for the sheets of paper. O'Reily dodged him effortlessly and tossed the notepad to Keller, who caught it easily and squinted down at Busmalis's scrawl.

"Norma's," Rebadow said.

"Bob!" Busmalis cried out in exasperation.

"Oh relax, Busmalis," Rebadow chided. "You clearly can't do this on your own."

"You gettin' down and dirty there with Norma, Busmalis?" Hill teased. "You old dog."

"Old being the operative word," Keller sniffed.

"You know," O'Reily said speculatively, glancing at the notepad over Keller's shoulder, "I could help you out with this. I used to be able to drive Shannon out of her mind."

"Shannon was loud," Cyril put in. "She screamed. A lot."

"Yeah, well." O'Reily grinned. "I got a talent."

"I been known to turn a phrase or two myself," Keller mused.

"You?" Beecher sniffed. He paused when Keller looked him up and down, had the grace to blush. "Yeah, okay," he agreed reluctantly. "But I bet I could give you a run for your money."

Keller grinned. "You're on. What's the stakes?"

"Hey! Wait a minute, guys," Busmalis said frantically. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, but this is kind of… private, don't you think?"

"Gimme some of that paper," O'Reily said.

"I'll take some," Beecher put in.

Keller divided the pad up into sections.

Busmalis dropped his head into his hands.

Rebadow smiled.

* ~ * ~ *

"Here you go," Keller said, dropping a wrinkled sheet of paper next to Busmalis's tray the next day at breakfast. "Four paragraphs describing me jerking off." At Busmalis's look of dismay, he frowned. "What? It's hot."

"It is," Beecher said.

"She'll love it."

Beecher nodded. "She will."

"It'll make her want to rip your clothes off and suck your dick," Keller said confidently.

"That's certainly the reaction I had," Beecher agreed.

Busmalis gulped.

*

Pancamo drew Busmalis into a one-armed embrace and shoved a piece of paper into his hand on the way back from the cafeteria.

"I wrote about how I felt about my wife," Pancamo murmured into his ear. "She used to be a classy broad. Before she turned into a lying slut and I had to….eliminate the problem... if you know what I mean."

Busmalis nodded as he clutched the paper convulsively. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Pancamo." He swallowed nervously. "Sir."

*

"Mine isn't as raunchy as Keller's," Beecher said, coming up beside him at one of the card tables. He placed a neatly folded piece of paper on the table. "But it's from the heart."

Busmalis touched the paper lightly. "Thank you, Tobias."

Beecher shoved his hands in his pockets. "Norma's a lucky woman."

"Oh no," Busmalis said. "I'm the lucky one."

*

Busmalis leaned his head in his hand and studied the checker board intently. It was a few moments before he realized that someone was standing to the side, watching him. He glanced up. "Said?"

Said inclined his head. "Good afternoon, Busmalis."

"Yeah," Busmalis said. He glanced over at Cyril, who only looked back at him blankly. He peered up at Said, confused, before a thought came to him. "Um… you don't have a paper for me, do you?" he asked dubiously.

Said pressed his lips together tightly. "No," he answered, "merely a thought. The love expressed between man and woman is a reflection of their love for Allah. Keep that in mind when you are with your fiancee."

"Uh… okay?" Busmalis said.

Said inclined his head. "Assalumu Alaikum."

"Yeah," Busmalis said. He tried a smile. "Thanks."

*

"Okay, so like, in my corner of the 'hood, yo, we don't DO shit like this, you know what I'm sayin', man? Like doin' shit like this is gonna get you killed, you gonna end up with a knife stickin' out of your back and the brothers laughin' at you when you go down, you hear me? But this is for a good cause, man, 'cause I heard what you got goin' on with that piece on the outside, and I heard she is fiiine. So I put my pen to paper for you, man, 'cause that's what I do, you know what I'm sayin'? You follow what I'm gettin' at, my man?"

Busmalis looked down at the paper, his mouth open, and watched Omar White bob his head twice before shuffling his way across the quad, still talking.

"That is one strange little man," Rebadow said.

Busmalis nodded mutely.

*

Busmalis looked up from the paper, his expression dumbstruck. He glanced at Rebadow and saw the same look reflected in his friend's eyes.

"It's… it's beautiful," he said around the lump in his throat.

"Yo, thanks man." Poet shrugged. "I got the words."

* ~ * ~ *

Two days later, Busmalis sat in the cafeteria and picked at his dinner vegetables absently, more occupied by the half a dozen sheets of paper that surrounded him than the luke-warm corn and the mystery meat on his tray. He tipped his hat back, scratched at his head and squinted at O'Reily's chicken-scratch scrawl before deciding to combine Beecher and O'Reily's contributions into the same section of the letter.

"Almost done?" Rebadow asked.

Busmalis looked up distractedly. "Yeah," he said. "I just wish I had something nicer to write this on." He gestured at the yellow legal pad he'd scrounged from the infirmary with a look of disgust.

"Norma will appreciate the content more than the stationery, Agamemnon," Rebadow advised smoothly.

Busmalis opened his mouth to respond, but the appearance of Vern Schillinger at their table struck him dumb. He swallowed, gulped like a fish out of water, and finally managed to push his tray towards the Aryan. He looked from the mound of untouched potatoes on the tray to Schillinger's face. Gulped again.

Schillinger said nothing.

Busmalis shifted uneasily in his chair, his eyes darting between Schillinger and Rebadow. Finally he couldn't take the silence anymore. "Aren't you going to spit in my food?" he blurted out.

Schillinger sniffed derisively before pulling a hand out from behind his back. He let a few pages of blank stationery flutter to the table. "Courtesy of the Brotherhood," he said shortly before turning on his heel and stalking away.

Busmalis followed Schillinger's progress through the cafeteria with his eyes before turning his stunned gaze down to the table. He lifted the pages gently before grinning up at Rebadow unabashedly. "Look! There's flowers. And unicorns!"

Rebadow glanced over at the Aryans gathered around a distant table. "Will wonders never cease," he said under his breath.

* ~ * ~ *

_Two weeks later…_

"I'm out," Beecher said, tossing down his cards.

"Shit, Beecher, you're making this too easy," O'Reily said as he drew in the pile of matchsticks.

"Yeah," Beecher said. He scratched at his neck. "I can't seem to concentrate."

"Neither can I," Rebadow admitted. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes scanning the quad. Everywhere, he saw residents of Em City in a state of flux. Pancamo seemed to be staring into space rather than concentrating on the pinochle game. Hill restlessly tapped his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair. Poet scribbled on a notepad and muttered to himself. Keller sprawled loose-limbed on a chair, but his eyes were never still.

And every thirty seconds, someone in their merry band turned his head, looked toward the barred gate, squinted or stared or peered hopefully, and turned away disappointed.

Rebadow settled back with a sigh. "I think I'm more nervous that Busmalis was," he said.

Beecher nodded. His head was now the one to turn toward the Em City entrance. He made a face when there was no movement at the gate, and turned back to the table. "Do you think she liked it?"

"Fuck yeah," Keller answered.

"Hell yes," O'Reily said at the same time.

"My part was a little… sickeningly sweet," Beecher admitted.

"Yeah, well, my part made up for it," O'Reily said with a smirk.

"O'Reily, I read your part," Keller sneered, "and it was--"

"Yo," Poet called out. He inclined his head toward the gate, where Busmalis was just being escorted inside.

Beecher leaned forward anxiously while Keller sat up straighter in his chair. Hill wheeled himself over to their table. Pancamo rose silently, stood stiffly beside his chair. Aside from a couple of the Latinos bickering over a card game, Em City was eerily silent.

Busmalis strode energetically over to the table. "Hey guys!" he said cheerily.

No one spoke.

Busmalis looked from one eager face to another, eyes wide. "What?"

"The letter!" Rebadow said impatiently. "What did Norma think of the letter?"

"Ohhhh." Busmalis pushed his hat jauntily back on his head. He grinned from ear to ear. "She loved it."

O'Reily pumped his fist in the air. "Yes!"

Pancamo relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief, while Beecher grinned at Hill, who leaned over to give a high-give to a beaming Poet.

"Told ya she'd like it," Keller said lazily.

"Yo, Busmalis, which part did she like best?" O'Reily asked.

Busmalis paused in doing a little dance to answer. "She loved all of it," he insisted. His brow furrowed for a moment. "But I have to tell you. Some of things she said she wanted to do, if we ever get conjugals again? I'm not even sure I know what they are."

Keller grinned. "If it ever comes to that, we'll help you out," he said.

"Yeah man, we've got your back," O'Reily added.

"Gee. Thanks guys."

Rebadow clapped him gently on the back. "That's what friends are for," he said.


End file.
